One day
by IDair
Summary: One of these days, Peter knows it, he's gonna give himself away. M rated!


**Title: **One day

**Summary: **One of these days, Peter knows it, he's gonna give himself away.

**Timeline: **AU, Peter's not Rumple's father, same old, same old.

**Main Characters: **Peter Pan, Wendy Darling

**Disclaimer: ****I** ****really ********do ********not o********wn OUAT****

**This is some M rated, dark, messy thing. The very much darling pan usual. **

**So, enjoy the reading?**

**And kids please, look away.**

* * *

Peter Pan is nothing of what the stories about him tell.

He's not a gay, cheerful, careless boy.

He's not sweet nor soft nor tender by any means.

There's nothing about him that could lead her or __anybody__ to think so.

He knows it.

He is __sure__ of it.

But Peter can't be sure of many things lately.

When he's with her, he feels like he can't be sure of anything.

When he's with her, he feels like walking on some edge, while the earth trembles underneath, like he's about to tumble down any moment and the ground is gonna swallow him into the unknown.

He doesn't like that.

It makes him wants to __crush __something.

It makes him want to crush __her__.

* * *

He doesn't like how he touches her.

He doesn't like how he kisses her.

He doesn't like how he __fucks__ her.

There's something that's gonna give him away even when he's harsher, rougher, when he makes it __dirtier__ than usual. As dirtier as he can. That's how grownups do it, isn't it? (Then why on earth is __he__ doing it? What __the hell__ possessed him to do something like that?)

She __poisoned__ him with her stories and her eyes and her smile and her __lips__...

There's __something__ that's gonna give him away sooner or later.

When his fingertips dig harsh into her hips as he slam his hips into hers. His mind, lusting and incoherent, turned into a fuzzy cloud of __nothing__.

Something is gonna give him away.

When he turns her around, pushes her against the nearest tree and bends her over.

__Orders__ her to spread her legs.

Just so he can tease her.

When his knuckle brushes the hot flesh between her legs, in a way that makes her bite her lips until they're white.

He wonders if she can see __he__'s the one shaking with the need to make her come.

(Oh, but he doesn't. He _doesn't_.)

When he pushes one finger inside her just to placate __his__ own need to hear her __whimper __for him__.__

When he gives her one, two thrust of his fingers just to feel her convulse and moan and then pulls away.

When he pushes her down at her shoulders, makes her __kneel__ between the spread of his legs.

He wonders if she can see it __all. __

That he's giving himself away right _then_.

He wonders if she can read it on his face, in his eyes, like a line in one of her books.

Because he wouldn't need a mirror to see it.

And as much naive as she still is she's the clever one, isn't she? She's always been quite the clever one.

One of the days, his demon mask is gonna melt. It's gonna fall on the ground and he'll be naked __for real__. And she will __see__.

That the puppeteer is nothing but a puppet in her hands. And she can tear the strings. Because she was the one who has been holding them all along.

One of these days, the master of pretenders is gonna fall down. She will take him down. And she'll be the ruler. The mistress. Of Neverland, of __him__, of everything he knows. His ruler.

(Peter can't shut up and choke that voice that tells him __isn't she already__? Isn't she the ruler of that black, rotter heart you still have in your chest, Pan? Doesn't the __very heart__ of Neverland beat for no one but her already? Doesn't the Pan __lov__\- )

Peter shuts his eyes tight.

He lets out a sharp, rasping breath.

And Wendy lips close around him.

* * *

One day she will notice all that.

That when his hands undid his belt and pulled down his trousers, his fingers were trembling.

And never stopped.

__Never__ stopped.

He clenches his fingers in her hair, __hard, __and gasps__.__

And that day __he__ will be the one on his knees.

Peter drops his head against the tree trunk and slowly opens his eyes.

The clouds are blinding white, the sunlight shines between his eyelashes, almost like stardust.

The sky seems different.

She releases him just for a second.

He cannot breath.

When her lips, her __bloody__ lips, falls again down on him, deep and warm, Peter Pan wonders what of Neverland really existed before __her__.

__Wendy__.

He pants.

__Wendy.__

His voice is so loud.

__Wendy.__

What of __himself__ existed before her?

* * *

One of these days, something, __something__ is gonna give himself away.

'Cause it's there, it's __always__ there, he can feel it.

Even when he curls his fingers on the back of her head, around the mass of her hair, and push her against his cock, to make her move as __he__ wants.

__(Beg for it.__

And she does. She _does_.)

One of these days he'll be the one begging her.

He wonders what __his__ voice might sound like when __he__ begs.

__Please.__

Wendy's tongue is wonderfully wet as it moves around him.

__Please.__

Maybe he's already discovering.

__Please.__

Maybe __she__ already knows it.

He sees flickers benath his shut eyes.

And he's gone.

He's completely __gone__.

* * *

One of these days, he's gonna give himself away.

He already is.

When he tries to keep his voice commanding and hard but still quivers with something __other__ than desire.

Something that burns so differently. Something that warms him up entirely from the inside and twist his stomach and make it flutter. And makes his mind fly away like it had wings.

Even when he never, __ever__ needed wings to fly.

When his palms slide over her knee, parting her legs, desperate to make her feel like she's nothing special, a toy to use and throw her away, when he's tired of her. (But when is that? __When__ is that gonna happen? When? When? __When?)__

He can uses her body as he pleases him to placate his needs, his urges and that's it.

__That's it.__

When he pins her wrists down at the sides of her head and thrust himself deep inside her.

Peter opens his mouth against her shoulder, bites down into the flesh, 'cause one of these days he's gonna give himself away but he's gonna make sure today is __not__ the day.

He shudders above her and gives one hard, graceless thrust, up the hilt, as he comes.

His heartbeat incessant against his rib cage, Peter falls back into the mattress and she knows he's completely spent.

* * *

One of these days…

One of these days, she will see it all notice it all.

The lingering, longing looks of his bright green eyes from across the camp, in the middle of one of the party of the Lost Boys, when the fire crackles and the night is ending.

The craving sigh upon his lips, in that fraction of a moment, when she meets his eyes. With her back upright, her slim arms suddenly rigid, her entire figure stiffened and __that__ flush on her cheeks. Because she knows exactly what he had in mind for the rest of __their__ night.

The way he wants, __needs__ to hold her afterwards, the way he wants to fall asleep with her in his arms because he found out it's the only way he can fall asleep __at all__.

The way he can't help but brush his lips against her naked shoulders, as he arms lock around her waist and pull her against his chest.

The way he craves the times he's still on top of her and she intertwines her fingers between the locks of his hair, caresses his cheekbone, then traces down the line of his jaw.

The way he wishes her hand would stop at his mouth because he wants to kiss her fingers. He wants to kiss __all__ of her.

The way he's drunk on the way she's willing to submit to him in the bedroom.

The way she let him mould her and under his hands and the rare times he lets her do the same to him.

Sometimes he's afraid it just came out of fear (He doesn't really care. That's what he wants. A king's first need is to be fear. __Let them fear you, let them tremble at the mere mention of the Pan's name__) that she might fear him to the point of blind obedience, but he __hopes__, he hopes there's something else, that she feels…

__(The same? __ __Fool, fool, fool, you pathetic fool.)__

Because...

One of these days, he will spill the __words__ out of his mouth, on his own and with her doing nothing. With her doing __absolutely__ nothing.

Nothing but kissing him back and smile that warm, melting smile of hers if he's __lucky__.

(But why __would__ she? How could she? He was her captor after all. Wasn't he?) That's all what he was to her. That's how he decide to play that from the start.

* * *

One of these days, he's gonna give himself away and she'll realize how much all that __game__ actually means to him.

One of these day he's gonna confess the words that has been rumbling in his head for __centuries__.

The words he buried in his heart, fought to death with darkness and __blood__ but that that not even all the magic of Neverland, of all the kingdoms, could scratch.

__(__ __I love you, I__ __love you, I love you.__ __)__

And Wendy Darling is gonna stand there, in front of him, __watching__ exactly how a king falls.

* * *

**Thanks to anyone who read this and still stick around to read my other ongoing stories. **

**Don't have enough words to say how much I appreciate it.**

**See you soon.**


End file.
